


Baby you should stick around

by blueeyedsoul



Category: Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: Bromance, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 13:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1268080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueeyedsoul/pseuds/blueeyedsoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin is having a bad case of migraine. Benedict is there to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby you should stick around

Had someone asked Benedict to describe his co-star in one word, he would have said Martin was like a sunshine. He was full of energy and positivity, always making him laugh. He had a snarky humor, he always gave one hundred percent in every scene every day and he was almost fiercely loyal to his friends. Benedict admired Martin more than he was able to tell and he was just glad he was able to make a good pair to Martin. It was no secret Benedict had feared for taking the role of Sherlock. But having Martin by his side right from the start faded his fears massively. He was able to trust him, because not only was Martin his acting partner, he was also a great friend. They understood each other almost intuitively, just like Sherlock and Watson. A chemistry like that was essential for them to have, not least because the show wouldn’t work otherwise. Benedict had liked Martin immediately, but on the other hand, who didn't?

Today Martin was not himself, though. He was more quiet than usual and in the last few hours his state had seemed to became worse. Benedict noticed his slow movements, his pale skin and a need to sit down quite often. They had been filming for over eight hours now. Most of the scenes were quite emotional so it was only natural Martin was tired but this was more than that. Martin looked beyond tired. When the last scene of the day was finally filmed, Benedict noticed Martin's hands were shaking.

After the “cut” was yelled, Martin practically collapsed down on a chair. Staring at his hands, he didn't answer when Benedict called his name. Then someone dropped some piece of equipment while passing them by and the loud voice made Martin flinch.

"Are you okay?" Benedict asked, even though the answer was obvious. He placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it lightly. Benedict hated to feel so useless, unable to really do anything for his friend.

"Yeah," Martin said in a tight voice and swallowed loudly.

"Liar."

"I've seen better days."

"That's more like it."

Martin looked up at Benedict. When his vision blurred and someone started to play a fucking drum solo right behind his temples, he immediately regretted moving his head for an inch. He squeezed his eyes shut, putting his head back down.

"Come to my place for the night, alright?" Benedict said, his hand never leaving Martin's shoulder. "I don't like the idea of you being alone in that state."

"Thanks, but..."

"I've got painkillers."

Martin‘s smile was the weakest possible but it was enough for Benedict because it told him Martin agreed.

With a little help, Martin stood up.

"You have endless limbs," Martin mumbled.

Benedict laughed.

"I say we take the elevator," Benedict said, starting to guide Martin who still kept his eyes firmly shut.

Benedict moved like a large cat, quickly but quietly.

When they stood waiting for the elevator, Martin leaned a little more of his weight to Benedict.

"You feeling dizzy?" Benedict asked.

"A little."

"Just a few more minutes, alright?"

"Mmm... tired."

"I know."

The elevator could not have moved quickly enough. Martin's breathing became more and more laboured by every passing moment. When the elevator door opened, Martin practically rushed to the hall. When Benedict opened the door, Martin passed him, heading straight to the bathroom. The sounds of violent retching and gagging made Benedict wince in sympathy. Martin had eaten very little all day. There couldn’t be much for him to throw up. The bathroom door was slightly ajar so Benedict stepped inside once Martin fell quiet. He found his friend sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, panting slightly.

"I know our shooting schedules are pretty tight but... You should say something if you are feeling this bad.”

Martin didn't answer. Instead, he leaned forward and coughed up the little that was left in his stomach. Deep down he had known his headache was more than a headache. But his migraines were always so painful he had hoped, damn had he hoped, for it not to be that.

"Want to try to get out of here?" Benedict asked, offering his hand. Martin nodded and, by leaning most of his weight on Benedict, stood up.

"Give me a minute," Martin said when his knees buckled.

Benedict had all the time in the world.

Slowly they made their way to the bedroom.

"I thought I was sleeping on the couch?" Martin asked. His voice very quiet, filled with pain.

"Like hell you are."

"But you..."

"Shhh," Benedict shushed him. "Sit down. I'll get you some painkillers."

Benedict came back with a glass of water, a couple of painkillers and a towel with ice cubes wrapped inside. He knew the painkillers wouldn’t be strong enough to really help Martin but he hoped the cool towel could at least make him a little more relaxed.

Swallowing the pills, Martin was a little afraid he might not be able to keep them down. He waited but thankfully didn’t feel sick.

"Lay down," Benedict told him. Martin was too tired to do anything but obey. Not that he really wanted to.

Benedict placed the towel on Martin's neck. Martin thanked him and sounded so grateful Benedict didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry.

Benedict laid himself down next to Martin.

"What're you doing?" Martin asked, the pillow muffling his sound.

"This is a double-sized bed. We'll fit here just fine."

Martin sighed.

"Wake me up if you need anything," Benedict said.

"Yeah, you too."

Martin’s reply probably became on autopilot but it was still very… him. Even when lying in pain, practically unable to do anything, he wanted to make sure people around him were okay.

A few minutes later Martin was asleep. Benedict stared at the ceiling, listening to Martin’s breathing. At some point he turned on his side and, placing a hand on Martin's chest, fell asleep.

A few hours later Benedict’s dream was interrupted by a loud crash. Even before he opened his eyes, he noticed Martin was no longer on his side. Jolting up, he looked around and saw light coming from the bathroom. He jumped out of the bed to check on his friend.

Martin was sitting on the bathroom floor. He leaned against the bathtub, keeping his knees under his chin, holding himself tightly. He breathed heavily and had shut his eyes tight. He was obviously in great pain.

"Martin?" Benedict asked, crouching down to take a closer look at him. He wanted to help but didn't know what to do. Fearing to hurt him, he didn’t dare to touch him. He felt absolutely helpless.

"Ben?" Martin's voice sounded forced, coming through his teeth.

"Right here."

"Good."

Benedict nodded, realised Martin couldn't see him, and then said: "What can I do for you?"

Martin was quiet for quite a long time before answering:

"It's has never been this bad."

A bucket of icy water appeared in Benedicts stomach, making him sick of worry.

"Do you want to go to the hospital, Martin?"

Martin took a whole minute before answering. "Could you take me?"

"Let me just get my coat. I'll be right back."

His coat, Martin though. The amazingly stylish coat that was actually Sherlock's. Benedict had fell in love with it instantly and demanded to take it for himself. It didn’t really surprise anyone. Benedict loved every piece of clothing Sherlock wore. Martin found it quite adorable how Benedict was always so stylish.

Martin was still lost in his thoughts when Benedict came back. Martin knew his next task was to get up. He should probably open his eyes, too. Unfortunately, didn't really want to do either.

"We'll take this slowly," Benedict said, guessing Martin's thoughts.

"Yeah."

Slowly, very slowly, they stood up. Martin shamelessly clinged on Benedict, knowing it was the only way he could keep from falling. Benedict would never let him fall. Step by step, they made their way to the elevator and then downstairs. Up to that point, things were going rather smoothly.

When Benedict opened the front door, the cool night air greeted them. So far Martin had been able to keep his eyes closed but now Benedict said, in his beautiful voice full of care:  
"Martin? I need you to open your eyes now. You have to watch your steps."

"Ugh," was the only answer Martin was able to come up with. He did open his eyes but just so he could see the ground. And his shoes, which he apparently had never taken off. Mostly he just focused on not passing out.

Martin didn't know how many steps it took from them to get to the car but the only thing keeping him moving was his will power. He felt sick but swallowed down his nausea. He feared he could puke on Benedict's wonderful jacket. Benedict would never forgive him for that.

In the car, Martin closed his eyes again. At some point it felt like his pain was fading a little. Then he realised it was probably him who was fading and not the pain. He could hear Benedict calling his name, could hear the worry in his voice, but he was unable to open his mouth to answer him.

Finally they arrived at the E.R. and Benedict flew around the car to help Martin out.

"Do you think you can make it inside?" Benedict asked, helping him to stand up.

Martin was as honest as he could when replying: "I'm not sure."

Then Martin tried to stand up and multiple things happened at the same time: a sharp pain, like a knife, pierced through his skull. His legs gave up on him, he heard himself yelling in pain and then everything went black.

Benedict had to carry all of Martin’s weight but thanks to his quick reflexes, Martin didn't fall on the ground. Benedict had to carry him inside, but that was not a problem. He was so sick of worry he would do practically anything for Martin right now. And he would do it in a heartbeat.

The nurses took Martin from him, took him behind the closed doors and told Benedict they would run some tests. Benedict was left alone in the waiting room. There were some dull, dated magazines on the table and a coffee machine on the corner. He was sitting uncomfortably on his chair, reading articles on his smartphone and even managed to take a short nap. After about two hours, a nurse walked in.

"He's asking for you, Mr. Cumberbatch."

"Oh?" Benedict stood up. "In what room is he in?"

"221."

"Of course," Benedict said and laughed shortly.

When Benedict stepped inside, Martin greeted him with a weak smile.

"You look better," Benedict said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"You look awful," Martin answered.

"I think the jury’s still out on that one."

Martins laugh filled the room with light and made Benedict instantly feel better and much more relieved.

"You scared me a little," Benedict said.

"Sorry about that. My migraine has never got this bad before. I'm fine now, though. I'm sure they'll let me leave soon."

"Good."

After a short silence, Martin said: "I'm kinda hungry." 

He wasn’t asking for Benedict to do anything about it. That didn’t stop his friend from standing up.

"What can I get for you?"

"A sandwich will do."

"I’ll be back in a minute."

When Benedict walked to the door, Martin stopped him by calling his name. Benedict turned to look at him.

"Thank you," Martin said, his gaze full of warmth and thankfulness. He thanked for more than just the sandwich. 

"Of course. That's what friends are for."

When Benedict closed the door behind him, Martin turned to look out of the window. He would miss Benedict during the hiatus of the show. But no matter what, he would never lose him. Benedict would always be there for him. That Martin was sure of.


End file.
